No one would claim their equal…
each the promised man
“Hunting what the others feared,
drumbeats called from far and near,
ghosts were dancing—vision clear”
The Northern Cheyenne
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
No one would claim their equal…
each the promised man
“Hunting what the others feared,
drumbeats called from far and near,
ghosts were dancing—vision clear”
The Northern Cheyenne
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
Like the mist of an early morning rain
and the love of an older dog
Like the spontaneous hug from a passing child
and coffee from a mountain fire
Like a call from an old retired friend
and the memory of one who left
Like those boots now broken in at last
and a map whose roads have changed
Like the smell and taste of a memory lost
and not the mileage but the miles
Like a rainbow reaching out at dawn
and the distant whistle of a train
Like a promise made for its own sake
and a marriage not on loan
Like a burden once it’s lifted free
and the present not the past
Like a thing put off, put off again
and the reasoning unknown
Like an hour spent inside a dream
and a wish that’s more than hope
Like your name when called to stand your ground
and the courage that’s required
Like a song you’ve heard a thousand times
and whose words still feel the same
Like a river rushing toward the sea
and a boy who knows its mind
Like a favored son to share your name
and the bond to keep it so
Like a reason that you can’t disclose
and the one who never asks
Like that girl who keeps your faith alive
—and your heart forever free
(The New Room: April, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
Sacred in its offering,
christening the past
Wellspring of indulgence
—running free at last
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
The weight of your words…
by the pound,
by the pain
The heaviest memories,
forever
—remain
(The New Room: April, 2021)
Kingdom of Devils…
majesty screams,
poisoning the darkness
—virulent dreams
(Watching ‘Hemingway’ #3: April, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
Running toward my yesterdays,
the future in pursuit
The loosest ends when left undone
—the past my guilt recruits
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
Where you go…
where you’ve been
One port of entry
leads within
Its grand canal
flows North and South
Meridian deep
—to anchor doubt
(The New Room: April, 2021)
The deepest truth lay undiscovered
in the buried words
Like unfound gold existing only
on a pirate’s map
True value in the search required
to seek and grasp
Each phrase a burrowing pen
digs into the readers mine
Fortune concealing veins of discovery
covered and unknown
Ink running free as the shaft leads inward
—anticipation karat pure
(Watching “Hemingway #2: April, 2021)
Illusion to who
or better to whom
the window opens shut
An image ingrained
often betrays
a rose that’s long been plucked
The sun in the moonlight
darkness to burn
a promise made to none
Glory unproud
its victory profane
—the truth an empty gun
(The New Room: April, 2021)
We live in the shadows of your cursed survival
not being killed when so many of you were
the endless rows of benighted headstones
telling of memories never to be
where you wander among them
pledging your heart to what unrequited
condemns you to time
we walk together through years of separation
the voices of the dead confirming
the tryst of our silence
forever pretending that a lyric
can be written after the music stops
that its words can be sung by the Angel guardians
of those long departed
and ignoring my devotion
you embrace the rejection of
the one who never loved you back…
the paramour who condemns you to live in misery
and to live with me
—jilted by death
(Watching ‘Hemingway’ On PBS: April, 2021)